EYES ON THE ROAD
"Hunt? What aren't you telling me, H?"
Hannibal began slowly turning his head, flaring his nostrils to gather in the scent. He moved almost imperceptibly, barely disrupting the air around his face, casually lifting his chin as he sought to isolate the direction of the source. When he was certain he'd gathered all the information needed, he shifted his attention once more to Clarice, unusually animated as he offered, "What I am telling you is that, if you are amenable, I'd like to take you on a bit of a hunting expedition. Well, that is not entirely accurate as it is not so much a hunt, not yet anyway, more a fact gathering mission. If you are not up to the challenge or find the prospect either boring or distasteful, I shall proceed and meet you at home later this evening."
Clarice remained very still, careful to keep her voice low though she couldn't avoid the trepidation seeping in.
"Is he here, H?"
Hannibal nodded, unfazed by the situation as he continued eating his steak. Slicing the next segment, he enjoyed the aromas of the blood seeping from the beef. Pausing, lifting the utensil to consider the next bite, he turned the fork as he reflected on what the offender might taste like. He doubted the man was young, based on the body movements he remembered from the surveillance tapes.
Mutton? Yes…most likely mutton; not the most tender of meats to be sure. I would need to marinate the flesh, if Clarice would allow…great care would have to be taken. Still…it is a good plan, foolproof, really.
"Yes, Clarice. He is here. Would you like to go home without me or will you be joining me this evening? There is no danger, I assure you or I would not make the offer. We will not approach the man; I cannot guarantee he will not attempt to make contact, though I believe it is still far too early for that to be a concern. At this stage there is no danger."
"At this stage there is no danger? What's that supposed to mean?"
Speaking as if the topic was of no more concern than a discussion of the weather, Hannibal continued dispassionately, more concerned with his steak than the perpetrator of any crime.
"If you were seeking assistance, would you injure the individual you were beseeching?"
"No, I guess not. Well, if you're sure there's no danger, I'm in."
Hannibal Lecter on the hunt? This I've got to see.
Having finished his meal, Hannibal stood and smoothed his hands over his chest, breathing deeply. As evening approached, the warmth of the day began to give way to the brisk evenings of winter in Argentina. Invigorated, Hannibal extended his hand.
"Shall we enjoy the local sites, my Love?"
Clarice took his hand, stood from the table and curtsied as if standing in front of nobility, which in point of fact, she was.
Count Hannibal Lecter the Eighth…That makes me the Countess Lecter…Priceless!
That thought made her smile.
"Certainly, kind sir."
The pair began to stroll among the vendors keeping along the edge of the walk with Hannibal closest to the street, very casually turning his head from side to side, using his sense of smell to guide them along the route. They walked for a time, perhaps covering a half-mile stretch, until coming to a lovely little Catholic church. Hannibal stood very still.
"H?"
"Very near, my Love. Would you like to accompany me inside?"
"Sure, H…I'd love to."
The loving couple were, as was their custom, holding hands as they walked, Hannibal signaling for his wife to stay close by tightly pressing their joined hands against his thigh as they entered the church. Hannibal paused for an instant, just a stutter to his step, but enough that Clarice understood the person to be close. Her husband proceeded with her in tow directly to the area where large rows of votive candles burned brightly.
"I should like to light a candle for my mother, if you have no objections, Clarice. It would have meant quite a lot to her to be remembered in that way."
Releasing her husband's hand, Clarice stepped respectfully aside.
"Okay, H."
As he approached the rows of candles, Hannibal reached for his billfold removed several bills, folded them neatly and placed them in the offering box. He then lit a single candle, made the sign of the cross and lowered his head as he approached the padded bench. Kneeling, his hands folded in front of his body, Hannibal prayed.
Her husband appeared so serene in his devotion that Clarice found herself mesmerized by this experience. Hannibal was so complex, such an absolute contradiction, that she was constantly surprised. Was it a belief in God, or in Heaven that drove his devotion, or the remembered love of a mother whose loss was felt so deeply even to this day? She thought, perhaps, that it might be some complex combination of each, though his mother's love was most likely the primary focus of his piety. Clarice found herself hoping that her son would feel as deep a love for her as she saw in her husband's devotion to his long dead mother now.
Hannibal's head, though still bowed, angled slightly and rotated at an unnatural angle as he considered a man sitting in a pew to his left. Standing, his back straight, posture impeccable as he stepped back from the kneeler, Hannibal turned. His eyes meeting with Clarice, he glanced at the man and back to his wife, his signal to her that he had indeed identified the perpetrator.
Clarice turned her head, to see the man Hannibal was identifying. He was an older gentleman of medium height and build, appearing devout as he prayed, silently turning his rosary beads as he mouthed his novena. He definitely had the appearance of a wealthy rancher, wearing what Clarice believed to be a buckskin coat with what appeared to be fringe hanging the full length of both arms. A Stetson sat on the pew beside him.
Hannibal reached for his wife's hand. Clasping his, she nodded her intent to follow his lead. Walking to the pews, Hannibal chose a seat on the same side of the church seven or eight rows behind the gentleman in question. Stepping back and guiding her body with his left hand, settled at the curve on the small of her back. Hannibal gently supported her right elbow with his right hand, allowing Clarice to enter the row first. Waiting for her to take her seat, he then genuflected, prior to entering the pew and took his seat beside his wife.
Realizing by Hannibal's observance of Catholic traditions that he was well versed in the expected the behaviors of his religion, she believed it best to do as little as possible. He obviously understood the rituals required and if there were something she needed to do, he would direct her. Otherwise, she believed it best to sit respectfully and allow him time to do whatever he felt was necessary.
I'm okay…plenty of people are sitting. If I kneel, and I might do something wrong, then I'll really stand out. If he wants me to do something, he'll find a way to let me know. Better I just follow his lead…
Clarice looked around, assessing whether or not the man was alone. Hannibal lowered the hinged bench at his feet and took to his knees once more. Clarice, not really understanding the ritual, remained seated realizing either way she wouldn't stand out.
She wondered whether Hannibal was praying or not. His hands were pressed together as if praying, his thumbs resting on his lips, his index fingers touched to his forehead but unlike before, in front of the candles, his eyes were open. She realized he was more likely watching from behind his devoutly poised hands.
Suddenly, the man they'd been watching stood, genuflected and turned, walking down the center aisle toward Hannibal and Clarice. Clarice watched Hannibal, noticing the slight shift in her husband's sightline. He was following the man in his periphery, and, as the man passed he craned his neck making it was obvious he was hoping to make eye contact with Hannibal, but Clarice realized, Hannibal's eyes were now closed.
Clarice waited for a few moments before leaning to her husband, she grasped his shoulder, shook gently and whispered, "Okay, he's gone, H. Let's go. He's getting away."
Hannibal's eyes remained closed, his voice soft, unstressed, he whispered in return,
"Why are you stressed so? There is no hurry, Clarice."
They waited in the pew for what seemed, to Clarice, to be far too long. She reached for Hannibal and smoothed a hand across his back, a sign of her anxiety. Though he understood his wife was growing more uncomfortable as each moment passed, Hannibal waited another two or three minutes before crossing himself, standing from the kneeler and stepping out into the aisle. Guiding Clarice to follow, he once more genuflected, took his wife's hand, and led her to the exit.
When they reached the exterior, Hannibal immediately turned right and moved through the crowds of tourists, their garb showing they were obviously in the area to take advantage of the August skiing.
Breathing in the brisk evening air, Hannibal stretched his arms, pounding his hands on his chest, inhaling deeply. He was relaxed as he dropped his arm around his wife's shoulder, pulling her close.
"Shall we return to the car, Clarice?"
Apparently Hannibal believed the question to be rhetorical because without waiting for an answer, he took her by the hand and began escorting her to their car.
Walking along at the relaxed pace her husband set, she questioned, "What? The car? Why? We don't even know what direction the man went when he left the church."
"It doesn't matter the direction he took when he left, I now know where he lives. We have a brief drive ahead of us. The distance is too far to traverse on foot if we intend to get back before you need to feed Hannibal."
Their arms were swinging casually between them as if they had all the time in the world. Hannibal was obviously not at all stressed. He had a plan, but was not sharing it as freely as Clarice would have liked.
"There's pumped milk in the fridge for emergencies if we get hung up, but he hasn't been fed from by anyone else yet, so I'd rather get back. Where are we going?"
"We will be traveling approximately 16 kilometers."
"How the hell do you know we have to travel 16 kilometers, H? We saw this guy for like five minutes and you know exactly where to find him?"
Hannibal smiled. He was enjoying keeping his wife in the dark, watching the wheels turning in her mind as she processed what he might have seen that she obviously had not. Taking great pleasure in having the upper hand, Hannibal milked it for all it was worth.
"Yes. It was really quite obvious, Clarice, I'm actually surprised you missed it. Perhaps your time away from the FBI has dulled your perception slightly. Fraternizing with Logan during your last months of service seems to have softened your investigative edge, Dude."
"Dude, don't push you push your luck! Logan, my ass!"
Hannibal stared ahead, and though his voice was extremely calm, there was a jealous edge to the good-humored reply.
"If I thought there was any reason to place your ass and Logan in the same sentence, I can assure you, he would not be long for this world."
Clarice didn't take note of the tinge of jealousy. She wasn't offended by his possessiveness she was complimented by it. In fact, she felt the same way about him, so she laughed it off.
"Okay, Logan touches my ass, he's a dead man. Got it."
Clarice stopped walking and tugged Hannibal's arm, bringing him to a halt as curiosity got the best of her. She guided Hannibal off the sidewalk and away from the bustle of the crowd.
"Okay, all screwing around aside, I'm not taking another step until you explain what the hell you saw that I didn't."
Now that they were away from the crowds, next to a building and shielded from the pedestrians Hannibal took a step into Clarice, pressing his body against hers as he ran his hands up and down her arms, ignoring her frustration as he tended to his own.
"It's getting chilly, my Love. Are you certain you are warm enough? It may snow overnight."
Frustrated, she smacked his hand away.
"You're incorrigible! You're acting like you're in no hurry at all…like he gave you his damned address or something."
Hannibal leaned in, kissed his wife and winked, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he whispered flirtatiously, "He did give me his address, Clarice."
"What the hell are you talking about, H?"
Hannibal turned his wife with a hand on the small of her back and spoke quietly as he guided her from behind the building and proceeded to the car, now within eyesight.
"We decided together that we are seeking a rancher, yes? Sheep, not cattle."
Watching Hannibal's ruby red eyes sparkling with anticipation, Clarice nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, a rancher, definitely a rancher."
Hannibal reached for her hand. Clarice gripped his thumb, holding it, casually swinging their now joined hands as they walked.
"Though there are a variety of ranches in the area that fit the description, the ranch we are now interested in raises both alpaca and sheep."
Matching her husband stride for stride, Clarice was now focused on Hannibal's processing. What had he seen? She concentrated on the warmth of her hand holding his. His senses were so highly developed, still, he had only been in the man's presence a few minutes. What had she missed?
His silence designed to both allow Clarice time to process the situation and tease her slightly, Hannibal raised their joined hands and kissed her knuckles before allowing them to swing freely once more. He didn't elaborate, allowing her frustration to bloom.
Her eyebrows knitted together illustrating her frustration, Clarice pursued, "Don't tell me you could smell alpaca on the man as he walked past?"
"No, not on the man's body specifically, but his boots carried the distinct scent of alpaca dung, and though I did note the fleece on the arms of his alpaca jacket, the body of the jacket was made of alpaca as well. The man is the rancher we seek. Not to mention, he surveyed me quite closely as he passed."
"Alpaca? Fleece? I didn't see any fleece. His arms had long fringe hanging from it. Wasn't that a buckskin coat?"
"That was not fringe, Clarice. That was the long corded fleece of the Suri alpaca. The hide of the coat, likely the same."
"Okay, so he has Suri alpaca fleece hanging from his arms. How the hell does that tell you where we're going. I've driven around here too, H. There are a ton of places that raise alpaca."
"Not only alpaca, Clarice, Suri alpaca, a very rare breed. The majority of alpaca owners breed Huacaya alpaca. They have a fluffier appearance."
The pair now reaching the car, Clarice waited for Hannibal to open the passenger side door, her eyes focused off as she considered what alpaca she had seen most in the area.
"Huacaya? Those are the ones that look like poof-balls?"
"Yes, for lack of a better description, and as such, not the breed we seek. While there are many such ranches, the individual we are pursuing breeds a very specific alpaca. The Suri alpaca is covered with the same long corded fleece you believed to be fringe. There is only one such ranch in this area, and as I stated earlier, it is approximately sixteen kilometers from here."
Hannibal held the door for Clarice, waited for his wife to enter and secure her seatbelt. Confident that she was comfortable, he closed her door, moved quickly to his side and slipped behind the wheel.
The moment her husband turned over the engine and began to drive, Clarice continued, still incredulous.
He noticed the freaking llama fur hanging from the guy's arms. Jesus…how the hell does he do that?
"So, we're gonna drive straight up to his house and…what? Knock on his door?"
Imagining the impertinence needed to approach the door and believing his wife might just have the courage to pull it off Hannibal laughed.
"Though I am certain as an ex-special agent a direct interview would be your first thought, no, of course not. We are going to drive fourteen or fifteen kilometers and run the rest of the way. I told you we are going hunting, Clarice. We need stealth. The Bentley is hardly appropriate."
"Hey, you're the bloodhound, H. I'll just follow your lead."
Hannibal was silent a large part of the ride. Seeking a distraction, he began considering the differences between classical and quantum statistics, running several permutations as he debated the implications of symmetry and its manifestation in quantum formalism.
Clarice, seeing he was deep in thought, was curious.
"What are you thinking about, H?"
Knowing she wouldn't understand a word of it, Hannibal brushed off her curiosity, not wanting to demean her intelligence.
"Nothing of any interest."
"How about you let me decide that."
"Very well, I am considering the notion that permutation symmetry, though present in both, is probably not sufficient to fully explain all of the differences between classical and quantum statistics. There are additional considerations, and as such, it is most likely not directly related to particle identity or more specifically, any lack thereof."
Staring ahead at her husband, amazed at the level he was able to process and still look almost bored, she teased, "Oh, H…I love it when you talk dirty."
"Trust me when I say, no matter what I am thinking, I am always thinking of you."
He reached across the seat running his hand over Clarice's knee, gliding it along the inside of his wife's leg, reaching still higher until she finally moved his hand away.
"Hey, eyes on the road, H, not between my legs!"
"My eyes are on the road, Clarice, it is my hand that is between your legs. A poor substitute, I realize, but as I'm driving, the logistics of my current position make contact with anything but my hand impossible, much as that pains me."
"Oh, don't be such a wiseass, H."
"Heaven forbid, Clarice."
Turning the wheel, Hannibal parked in a remote location, the Bentley now hidden behind a cluster of low-lying conifers. "We've arrived at our destination. Are you ready for a short jog?"
"Yeah, I'd love a little exercise."
Hannibal escorted Clarice from the vehicle. As he closed the door he gathered her in his arms, walking toward her as he drew her in, backing her against the passenger door. Pressing his body against hers, he began to kiss her passionately. At first, she thought to push him back, but his mouth was insistent and if she was being honest, the whole situation was pretty exciting.
When his lips left hers, he sought the soft flesh at her throat, biting, mouthing at her skin until he was certain she was well marked. His hips drove forward pressing against hers, his aroused state evident as he shifted to touch her. The moment she felt his hands slipping over her hips within the elastic waistband of the tracksuit, she gripped his wrists, staying his movement.
"H…I need you to focus, H…We've got to get moving. The baby will need to eat in a couple of hours."
Grudgingly breaking the contact, Hannibal lowered his head to her shoulder.
"Very well, Clarice. I have several things I am looking for, aside from confirming the man's presence at the ranch. The moment I've assessed the circumstances, we will take our leave, yes?"
"Whatever you say, H."
Slapping his bottom, Clarice announced, "Get a move on, H. We don't have all day."
"I will get you home soon, Clarice…and rest assured, once our son is tended, I shall provide you with additional exercise."
"Whatever you say, stud! Let's go."
Hannibal and Clarice jogged side by side, skirting the edge of the property as they headed toward the main house. Careful to stay off the gravel so as not to create suspicious sounds as their footfalls pounded the ground, Hannibal moved swiftly, keeping his wife close to assure her footing.
Hannibal directed Clarice to surveil the home from the tree line believing it to be the area most secured and least likely to present surprises. She had seen the rancher and could identify him easily. Her presence would also provide Hannibal with another set of eyes as he approached the home.
Clarice evaded the light glowing from the windows and sought the desired higher ground. She turned around, assessing the trees for a high point that would be easily accessible, provide cover, and afford a view of the inside of the home. She found a suitable conifer, one with ladder-like branches, and scrambled up the limbs, careful to use the tree's natural cover to shield her presence.
Waving from her perch, she signaled to Hannibal that it was safe for him to proceed, and as such, he would be able to move freely without worry. Watching with awe as Hannibal stalked toward the home, Clarice was amazed at how fluid his movements were. He was exceptionally fast, probably due to his trust of his own senses. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing his decisions, he simply moved where he wanted, when he wanted.
Okay, H…don't tempt fate. Not too close, please. You'll give me a heart attack.
As if hearing her thoughts, Hannibal turned toward his wife waved and smiled, just before ignoring her telepathic concerns, leaping over the rail of the wrap-around porch, ducking low behind the swing to peer into the window.
Not seeing the rancher, Hannibal moved off the porch and looked again to Clarice.
Seeing movement in a window at the back of the house, Clarice directed Hannibal to check out that location. As Hannibal moved to the designated window, Clarice watched with a smile until suddenly, she saw Hannibal drop to a crouch. Panicked, she strained to see the problem, unable to define the threat.
Suddenly she heard gravel, shifting and crunching under tires followed by the relentless pinging of the small stones pelting the bottom of a vehicle. Headlights coming over the rise in the drive, a large truck came down the path. Hannibal had perceived the approach long before it became obvious to Clarice.
Panic flooded her thoughts as the adrenalin coursed through her system. The murderer was home, he was headed right toward Hannibal and there was nothing Clarice could do to help.
Until the next chapter, my friends!
LH